Kane, Andrea (57 page)

"Nope. Just a business deal where, for once, you're not in
the power seat." Sabrina arched a brow. "So what's it going to
be?"

"Fine. I'll take the damned sleeping pill. You can stay here
and watch me swallow it, if it makes you happy."

"That won't be necessary. I trust your nurses." She
smiled faintly. "And just to show you that I'm not such a piranha and that
I do understand that in any good negotiation both sides should walk away
feeling like they got something in return, I'm willing to make a concession,
too. When Dylan and I come by tomorrow night, I'll gush my little heart out
over my ring-—first to you, then to every nurse, intern, and medical technician
who walks through that door. Okay?"

Carson's features softened, and Sabrina noted that his cardiac
monitor had returned to a more regular rhythm. "Sounds fair."

She leaned closer, meeting his gaze with solemn understanding.
"Carson, I know you feel responsible for my safety. But cut the guilt.
None of this is your fault. And look at the bright side. Out of this horrible
series of events came a few wonderful things, too. Hey, I got a father, a fiancé,
and the career opportunity of a lifetime. Those were worth walking through
flames for." On impulse, Sabrina bent down, kissed his cheek. "I'll
get the nurse to bring in that pill. You sleep. Dream about those grandchildren
you're waiting to spoil."

Wednesday, September 21st, 1:25
P.M.
Mt. Sinai
Hospital

The appointment with the nephrologist had gone off like clockwork.

Dr. Mendham was sharp, to-the-point, and thorough, just as Dr.
Radison had described. She'd examined Sabrina from head to toe, asked her a ton
of questions, and conducted a whole battery of tests, including a chest X ray
and EKG. She'd also explained the renal angiogram in detail, addressed some of
Sabrina's concerns, and provided some promising information about the prospect
of Sabrina undergoing laparoscopic, rather than conventional, surgery, which
would be much less invasive and translate into a quicker, easier recovery.

All in all, the appointment was enlightening and positive. With a
modicum of luck, all systems would be go. When Carson was ready, Sabrina would
be, too.

In the meantime, however, she was practically jumping out of her
skin.

She and Dylan had darted out of Dr. Mendham's office, Bernard
looming close behind, and the three of them had jumped into the limo and headed
straight for Mt. Sinai. Dylan called the hospital from the car and was told
that Carson was dozing fitfully, awakening every few minutes to ask if the
detectives had called yet.

They hadn't.

It was twelve-forty by the time the limo got there, and Sabrina and
Dylan went straight to Carson's room, where a brawny police officer was posted
outside the door.

"Is everything all right?" Sabrina demanded, recognizing
Officer Garner.

"Fine," he assured her. "Everything's been quiet.
Mr. Brooks had two visitors—Stan Hager and Susan Lane. Mr. Hager arrived at
eight-fifteen; Ms. Lane arrived at eight-forty. They each left promptly and
without protest as soon as they were told how exhausted Mr. Brooks was and that
Dr. Radison had ordered no visitors until later today. I checked in with Stick
and Stone around nine and filled them in. Nothing since then."

"Thanks." Dylan guided Sabrina through the door.

They'd tiptoed into the room in case Carson was asleep, but his
eyes popped open the minute they entered. He'd looked tired and drawn, and
Sabrina had the distinct impression that Dr. Radison's story about the
sleepless night hadn't needed to be fabricated.

Carson pumped them for details on Sabrina's appointment with Dr.
Mendham, absorbing all the information with a terse nod. He waved away their
concerns about his exhaustion, assuring them that he was fine, other than the
fact that he was losing his mind waiting.

It was one-thirty when the waiting ended.

The telephone rang, and all three of them jumped. It couldn't be
anyone but the detectives; no one else's calls were being put through.

Carson picked up the receiver. "Hello?" He paused.
"Yes, they're both with me. What happened?" Another pause.
"Here? Yes, fine, all right. Just hurry up." He hung up. "That
was Whitman. She and Barton are driving into the hospital parking lot. She
wants to come up and see us." His expression was grim. "She didn't
elaborate. But it's obviously not good."

"We didn't think it would be," Sabrina put in quietly.

"No. We didn't." Carson interlaced his fingers and fell
silent, waiting and steeling himself simultaneously.

Dylan paced over to the door, standing there and staring at it as
if willing it to open.

Eventually, it did.

"Hey." Detective Whitman walked in alone. She didn't
mince words, or waste time. "Everything went down as planned. The search
warrant was just a formality. Ms. Lane cooperated fully. She was definitely
antsy about the fact that we'd tracked Mr. Molotov to YouthOp, but she had no
idea that she was also under suspicion. So she kept herself in check. Until we
started digging up financial records that were majorly out of whack. Then, she
caught on, and freaked out. We told her she wasn't going anywhere, so she cried
and wrung her hands and paced around while we searched the place."

Jeannie drew a sharp breath. "We got everything we need.
Gross misappropriation of funds, the name and lowdown on Mr. Molotov—thanks to
Russ Clark, who'd hidden some pretty comprehensive notes inside the textbook he
used to teach his Saturday writing workshops. And we got Mr. Molotov himself
who, according to the call I just got from my precinct, was picked up at his
apartment, along with a closetful of illegal narcotics and stolen weapons. His
name's Joseph Kenman, and he's got a juvenile record as long as my arm. Now,
he's in the big leagues—twenty years old and very much an adult. With charges
like murder, attempted murder, and conspiracy to commit murder facing him, he's
not worried about the drug and weapons crimes Ms. Lane was holding over his head
to keep him in line. He's singing like a bird. Not that we need it. Ms. Lane
broke down and gave us a full confession."

"All of it?" Carson fired out. "She confessed to
hiring that Kenman kid to kill Russ, and to murder Sabrina and Dylan?" His
jaw was so tight, it looked like it might snap. "And she admitted to
shooting me—or rather, going to Ruisseau to shoot Dylan and mistaking me for
him?"

"Yes, Mr. Brooks." Jeannie didn't look happy. She looked
resigned. "I'm sorry. But she did. She used your extra key to get into the
building through the freight entrance. She avoided the surveillance cameras by
scooting up the stairs. The rest happened pretty much like we figured—the shot,
the mistaken identity, the works. The twenty-two's at the bottom of the Hudson.
She tossed it there from the Seventy-ninth Street boat basin. We'll keep
dredging. With any luck, we'll find it. The gun's hot. Kenman got it for her.
We certainly don't need to get our hands on it to convict either of them, but
it'll be one more nail in their coffins if we do."

A pause, as Jeannie cleared her throat. "I could have told
you all this on the phone. The reason I didn't is because Ms. Lane is insisting
on seeing you. She's downstairs in the car with Frank. Normally, I'd tell her
to stuff it, but I wanted to make sure you had no interest in speaking with her
before we take her in and book her. Her attorney's already on his way to the
precinct. What do you want me to tell her?"

Dylan's expression was murderous. "How many words would you
like it in? You can start by telling her that she's a—"

"Bring her up," Carson interrupted in a hard, implacable
voice.

Both Sabrina and Dylan turned to gaze anxiously at him.

"Carson, it's a bad idea," Dylan said flatly. "Let
it go. There's no closure to be had. Not in a situation like this. There's only
an opportunity to send your blood pressure soaring, and screw up your
recovery."

"I don't want closure." Carson stared Dylan down.
"I want confirmation. As for my recovery, it's a nonissue. She couldn't
kill me when I was vulnerable, with my back to her. She's sure as hell not
going to hurt me now, when I'm the one in control, looking her straight in the
eye."

"You're sure this is what you want?" Sabrina asked.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Okay, but Dylan and I are staying."

Ten minutes later, Frank shoved open the door and led Susan in.
She looked worse than she had when Carson was first shot—her makeup blotchy,
her hair mussed, and her eyes filled with haunted realization. Then again, this
time it was
her
life,
her
future that was on the line, not
someone else's.

Officer Garner continued to stand guard outside the door, along
with Bernard, although no one really perceived Susan as a threat. Not now.
Standing there, her hands cuffed behind her and her head bowed, she looked more
like a broken bird than a criminal.

Her gaze flickered over Sabrina and Dylan, and she winced,
averting her head—whether because she couldn't bear the sight of them or
because she couldn't deal with the reminders they represented, it wasn't clear.
Either way, she didn't speak to them, but looked straight at Carson.

"Carson..." She wet her lips, searching his face for
some sign of compassion, and finding none. "Can I come closer? I don't
want to talk to you from across the room."

"Good idea." Carson stunned everyone by waving away
Detective Barton's oncoming refusal, and beckoning her forward. "Don't
worry, Detective. I doubt she's packing heat with her hands in cuffs. Let her
come over to the bed."

Relief flooded Susan's face, and a flicker of hope lit her eyes as
she approached his bedside—Barton close behind.

"I..." She struggled for the right words. "You
don't know what I went through when I realized it was you. I thought you'd left
the building. You said you'd be gone by five. The person in your office was
alone. Of course I assumed it was Dylan. He was the only other person at
Ruisseau that day, and he spends more time in your office than he does in his
own. It never dawned on me..." A sob shuddered through her, and she bent
over, laying her head on the bed near Carson's pillow. "I'd never hurt
you. You have to believe that. I love you. I was just so afraid that Dylan
would get to you, tell you things that would turn you against me."

"You mean, like the truth?"

"No... yes... Carson, please let me explain." She
pressed her face against his shoulder, her tears drenching his hospital gown.
"I fought my way out of that damned hick town I grew up in. I've been
fighting my way up ever since. And I've been fighting alone. I don't have your
inner strength. I can't make it by myself. I need security, someone by my side.
I need
you
—your love, your name."

"My money," Carson added.

She blew out a shaky breath. "Fine. Yes, that, too. I need
financial security, for me and for YouthOp. I do care about those kids, no
matter what Dylan told you. Everything could have been so perfect. But he
wouldn't stop poking around. Neither would Russ. And then Sabrina showed up, a
daughter you'd never met, but felt obligated to take care of. As if that
weren't bad enough, she got involved with Dylan. It was only a matter of time
before he shared his suspicions with her. Then, she'd be in my face, too. I
couldn't take that. You and I had built a future together. I couldn't let some
unknown sperm donation come between us. She'd ruin everything. I couldn't survive
that. I love you too much."

Carson hadn't so much as blinked through her long burst of
hysteria. But there was a harsh glitter in his eyes, and a hard set to his jaw,
both of which said he wasn't even a tad bit moved. Still, he turned his head
slightly toward her, drawing a sharp breath as he did.

An odd expression flickered across his face, a sort of
self-censuring awareness, as if he'd found whatever confirmation he'd been
seeking.

"Get up," he commanded, in a tone so scathing it made
even Sabrina cringe.

Susan's head snapped up and, when she saw the icy condemnation in
Carson's eyes, she complied instantly, stumbling to her feet. "Carson,
please..."

"Shut up. If you think I agreed to see you so you could
profess your undying love and I'd forgive you, forget it. You'll rot in prison,
if I have anything to say about it. Okay, Detective Barton, you can get her out
of here."

Stark disbelief flashed across Susan's face. "I don't
understand… I thought..."

"That I was an asshole?" Carson supplied helpfully.
"That I'd melt the minute you told me how much you love me, and forget
that you're a murderer? Honey, if that's what you thought, then
you're
the
asshole." He settled himself back on his pillows. "So long. See you
on the six o'clock news."